Fifteen months

I know I often compare you to your brother. His feet were two sizes larger than yours at this age and he said many more words. But I say things like this without judgement. I love how different you are. I love each of your individual quirks. It's your differences that make you both so interesting. Since 'tis the season, let me compare it to Christmas. You children are like opening presents I never thought of asking for, but were just right for me. 

You are so rich in personality. How did I ever say I thought one year olds were hell? You are so not. You are such a quite, but tenacious little spirit. Watchful and sweet, stubborn and clever. When I think of you as a woman grown, I feel an excited flutter in my chest. A sense of pride that I will have a part in you, both physically and through my time with you, but also the thrill of the unknown. Because who you are, is already so firmly rooted in your being. You grow and I sit back and marvel at this gift the universe deemed me worthy to keep so close. 

You love dogs. This goes to support my belief that you are either born a cat or dog person. While you also love our cats and they like you ever so much more than River, there is something special about the way your Nana's skittish dog wasn't afraid of you. The way he would let you grip his head in both his hands and sit in his crate with him even though he would run laps to get away from your brother and wouldn't enter the house if he could see Daddy anywhere around. You still approach random strange dogs or try to follow them. You seem to have this innate love of animals and a respect for their bodies. They seem to know it too. Except the squirrels who run in a deranged and panicky manner whenever you shriek with joy and point one out. 

Some new words are "light" and "diaper". You know where to go to get a clean diaper and you will pick one out and repeat "diaper, diaper" while I change you. I tried to feed you some yogurt and you said "Bye bye" to it. When I offered you something else you shook your head. If you really want something you gesture with a hard jerk of your arm and your pointer finger out. Your eyes give most of the message. Intense looks and patient waiting. You expect me to understand and often I do. You haven't begun many tantrums or frustrated screaming like River did when he wasn't understood. Though there have been a few tantrums when I took something from you--like the lotion bottle you were trying to eat from. Your crying is loud and persistent and confused. As if you are thinking, "Why am I so angry and what do I do about it?!" You lay on the floor and won't move as if your legs are broken. Sometimes you look at me as if to say, "Now what?" or "Are you going to pick me up now?"

You have a love of music. You sing when I sing. Not words but "la la las" and sometimes it actually sounds as if you are getting the melody--just a bit. You have begun humming when you nurse or suck on your paci as you fall asleep at night. We went out for dinner and you stood up in your seat, typical Sage, and were shaking your butt to the music--much the the amusement of a couple at the bar. 

I'm bemused by the girly things you do like making everything a bracelet or carrying around a purse. You also picked out the pinkest more sparkly girl shoes at Payless and demanded I put them on you. Then again, River would have done the same thing at that age. Unlike River, you climb everything. You climb up onto the table from your booster seat all the time. We can not keep you contained. You love to run away and be tickled on your tummy. You give kisses that are often drooly. But the quirk that gets the cutest prize this past month is how you clean up. I say, "Put it back." and you do. But yesterday, you found a pair of your pants on the edge of the bed. You plucked them up, opened the correct drawer of your dresser (which I didn't even know you could open) and put them inside. You then shut the door and walked over to me. 

There is a bit of me in you after all.

Love,

Mommy